Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Monday, October 09, 2006

    Story of Kay, Part 3

    The endo pain is getting worse. There's no denying it. I spent the better part of Saturday night tossing and turning, trying to fnd a comfortable position.
    And then it just goes away. Today has been pain-free.

    I can't stand not knowing when it will come back.


    This wraps up the Kay story for now. She's still helping, and I can continue updating if anyone is still interested.


    Part 1

    Part 2


    All of the things I know about Kay come from O. The more he talks about her, the more I want to meet her myself. Kay is interested in math and science. I want to sit down with her, question her about gravity, the nature of light, the mathematics of fractals.

    And of course I want to ask her all the same questions that you want to ask.

    I arrive at the bookstore Sunday afternoon with the boyos, the girlios, and lil Peewee. Mr. Clowncar comes out, we all say our goodbyes, and the Clowncar-Peewee family heads south to Pueblo.
    Kay is just inside the store. I take her face in quickly – she is thin, her skin is red and looks a little chapped. But her eyes – they are brighter and bluer than any Blue-Eyed Bike Angel's. Her hair is short, brown, and yes, matted. Kay's actually very pretty; she'd probably be lovely under better circumstances. She's not much taller, or older, than I am.
    In an instant I catch Kay's eye and she smiles at me. I smile back. Then my boyos run past me into the store to see their daddy. Playing in the back yard all day, their clothes are dusty; they are the ones who look fresh off the street. Kay looks at them and I see the connection she makes. I watch her face change, watch it close down. She will not look at me now, even though I try to regain eye contact. Kay's wearing her street face and I just don't stand in that middle ground where her eyes rest.

    We make eye contact only once that afternoon. It is after I've loaded up a cart with the rest of Africa and pushed it out of an alcove into the open room where it can be wrapped up tight in cellophane. O calls me to come take a look at the back rooms where the hardback lit, mysteries, poetry, religion, metaphysics and science used to roost. Most of the shelves are bare. Kay has been busy back here.
    Wow. This is amazing, I say, looking right at her.
    She meets my eyes, acknowledges my comment with a small, tight-lipped smile (I wonder about her teeth) and then she's looking in the middle space again as she walks past me through the doorway.

    **********************************************************************************

    I try not to form opinions about Kay's condition, let alone her thoughts, but that is nearly impossible to do. She's been friendly to everyone, even warm to O, but she has shut me out. I can't help but speculate.
    Do you think, maybe, she has a crush on you? I ask O later. I hate this question, even as it comes out of my mouth.
    He's taken by surprise.
    I never thought of it. I don't think so. No. Do you think?
    She might.
    What makes you think so?
    Because I would, if I were her.
    And because that is how I'd look, or not look, at The Wife, I think to myself.

    I'm not jealous. Don't even let that cross your mind. And not because of who Kay is, but because of who I know O is.
    It could be that Kay just doesn't like women she doesn't know. I can relate.
    See what I mean? In absence of knowing her thoughts and motives, I attribute my own. I start to think how easily I could become homeless, how I could wander away one black-edged day, never opening my mouth again to speak, find a used bookstore in some far city and accumulate my own pile of science and literature. I'd be clean, too.

    Would I fall in love with the first kind face? Probably.

    I still wish I could ask her about her life. I'm sure it won't be long before O actually does. He's very good at that. He'd make an excellent bartender. Sometimes I think being a bookseller isn't too far from that other confessional occupation.


    10 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger Stucco wrote in a love letter...

    I recognize that I'm a pig and all, but maybe you should ask Kay if she's ticklish, and if she spanks?

    As for the endo- use it to your advantage. Whenever you are faced with doing something you don't want to do, feign endo pain and split.

    "What? Jury Duty? No, see- it hurts in my girly places... I'd love to but, you see?"

    By the way, my WV is "llozez", which I'd pronounce with the Spanish "double L is a Y sound" and get "yozez". I'm going to start saying that to people in lieu of "yo", for shizzle, you see?

    1:47 PM, October 09, 2006  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    A nice portrait of K - you paint a lovely yet accurate picture. Though
    I would be careful not to over-romantacize the mentally ill. I don't think you do, I just think it's an easy trap to fall into.

    And O would make a GREAT bartender. I can't believe I've never made that connection.

    Off Wednesday to the town so nice they named it twice. Pinch me!

    9:53 PM, October 09, 2006  
    Anonymous O wrote in a love letter...

    Bottom line: K. is fucked up. Seriously. I would guess that she is aware of her fucked up-ness. No one normal spends that much time with bleach. ;)
    But what was I supposed to do? Kick a person who has probably spent her entire life being kicked around by saying "No, you can't help, you have to pay me money that you panhandle for these books that you want." Couldn't do it. I had a lot of volunteer labor on this project, so I passed a portion of my good fortune along to her. She's fascinating to see in action, tho, to say the least.
    So would testicular pain get ME out of jury duty? "Kick me in the jimmy!"
    Clowncar - not sure I wanna be a bartender, but I do end up hearing people's stories....
    O

    11:04 PM, October 09, 2006  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    Regardless of whether you'd wanna be one or not, you'd be a good one. Plus, if you were a bartender, I figure I'd be able to get a lot of free beer out of the whole deal. I do not take free beer lightly.

    4:30 PM, October 10, 2006  
    Anonymous O wrote in a love letter...

    Free beer is something to be taken, lightly or not. Always.
    O

    9:32 PM, October 10, 2006  
    Anonymous Cathy wrote in a love letter...

    I find your blog incredibly difficult to read. Perhaps it is the spacing of the paragraphs? Or the subject-matter? I don't know. But I keep trying to enjoy it. You seem to have a lot to say. But what, exactly, is it about????

    2:38 AM, October 11, 2006  
    Blogger Stucco wrote in a love letter...

    Heh heh- *snort*...

    8:37 AM, October 11, 2006  
    Blogger D_Man wrote in a love letter...

    Yes to the updates.

    2:23 AM, October 12, 2006  
    Blogger amusing wrote in a love letter...

    Well, how bout books and beer? O could do both -- or get Clowncar in to man the taps... (All the free beer you want, fella!)

    Thanks for Kay, Part III.

    10:46 AM, October 12, 2006  
    Anonymous O wrote in a love letter...

    Been doing books & beer all week. No customers, so we feel free to set up shop and have a few....Oh, you meant like a literary bar? Something to consider, except that where I'm at I'd have more drunks than book buyers.
    O

    8:56 PM, October 12, 2006  

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